


no grave can hold my body down

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8771029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: (i'll crawl home)Grace, her life in America, and reuniting with Tommy. 'She wasn’t meant for such a life, wasn’t born to murder and betray without a second thought. All she truly knows is polite conversation, luncheons and fake smiles. She might love Tommy, might always love Tommy, but she could never truly be a part of his life.'





	

It has been over two years (precisely seven hundred and forty-seven agonising days) since she left Birmingham, but somehow Grace can still remember the exact shade of blue of Tommy Shelby's eyes. It is one week after she tells him to join her in London that she boards a ship to America with only the slightest of reluctance. The waves that crash around the ship remind her of Tommy's eyes, and so she prefers to remain in her cabin, no matter how tiny it may be. No point prolonging the pain, she thinks, not when she has resolved to put England, Birmingham and Tommy Shelby behind her.  

Yet only two years later, the very same blue waves carry her back to England, back to Birmingham. Back to Tommy Shelby.

In the fourteenth months since she wed Clive, there has not been a single morning where she hasn’t hoped the man sharing her bed will miraculously be Tommy, only to have to hide her disappointment when her husband's face greets her, his eyes brown when she longs to see blue. Clive is a kind man, widowed whilst he was serving overseas during the war and in need of both a wife to warm his bed and children to inherit his fortune. Still, no matter how kind he is, Clive does not inspire any feelings of love within her, only quiet contentment for the life marriage to such a man can provide. He is the kind of man she knows her parents wanted her to marry, the kind of man she most likely would have married, and so she does, the service small but beautiful nonetheless. Grace has everything she could ever want, an abundance of clothes and jewellery, and her husband never raises his voice to her, never asks her to risk her life like Tommy surely would. She should be utterly content, but for  _some_ reason she isn’t. 

She spends most of her days alone in her husband’s obscenely large house, unable to exert herself even a little for fear of offending the maids. Any attempt at making conversation with her husband's hired help is consistently thwarted, her maids leaving her presence before she can even utter a greeting. Grace has nothing but novels and music to keep her company until her husband gets home of an evening, and any newspapers they may receive from London are horribly out of date. She tries to make friends amongst the wives of her husband’s associates, tries desperately to feign interest at their luncheons, but she just can’t. Articles on the actions of the notorious Peaky Blinders are more interesting to her than any conversations about charity work and child-rearing ever could be. The newspapers from London are all horribly biased against the Shelby brothers and their ilk, but Grace manages to piece together the truth, her training under Campbell useful even in her new life. Tommy had promised her he could be, would be, better - for her. According to the newspapers he has, he’s taken his business into the realm of legitimacy. And she may be an entire ocean away but she couldn’t be prouder.

It pains her that she isn’t there with them, helping them. Arthur’s sums are presumably as terrible as ever, and she would correct them all, go over all of his infuriatingly disordered books until the sun rose, if only to have a real purpose in her life. She's never been as bored as she is now, her days all merging into one another. Before Tommy, there was the war and her duties for the government, and before that, ample distractions to be found amongst her uncle's family amidst her plans for revenge for her father’s death, her mother's heartache.

Her life now consists only of tedious boredom, her days so repetitive it frustrates her.

The idea of a baby is one her husband has been not so delicately hinting at for some time now, and when faced with a lifetime comprised of endless hours of nothing, Grace thinks –  _why not?_  She has moved on from her past by coming to New York, by marrying a man the complete opposite of Tommy, a man her parents would have loved to see her wed. A baby will only solidify that change, and perhaps give her something to do rather than daydream about what could have been if she had stayed. There is no point dwelling on what can never be, after all. No matter how she feels, there would have been no place in Birmingham for her after her betrayal, even if Tommy had forgiven her. The reasonable, rational side of her knows this. Polly would have seen her dead before she let her become part of the business, and she knows the rest of them would have felt the same, even Arthur. She betrayed them all, betrayed Tommy, and if a life consisting of boredom and babies is to be her punishment, she shall gladly take it. 

The memory of how blood coated her hands after she’d mercilessly killed that man all because he was part of the IRA still haunts her. He hadn’t killed her father, but she’d still slaughtered him as if he had. How she'd scrubbed to rid her hands of the blood, her skin raw before she was satisfied. She wasn’t meant for such a life, wasn’t born to murder and betray without a second thought. All she truly knows is polite conversation, luncheons and faking a smile. She might love Tommy, might always love Tommy, but she could never truly be a part of his life. It is better for both of them this way. 

So late at night, she rolls onto her side and tells her husband that she wants to have a baby. The grin that spreads over his lips is so wide she almost feels guilty for not conceding to his hints earlier. She knows that a man such as he needs an heir, and there is no reason for them not to have children. With a father like Clive, any children she has will be safe, comfortable and affluent beyond belief. Their lives will not be threatened, and the continuation of their existence shall not be based upon whether their father succeeds in his latest endeavour. No, her children shall be raised in comfort, raised to occupy the highest positions in society and to enjoy all that life has to offer them. They shall never be placed in danger, like Finn, a boy of eleven who should been playing but had constantly been used as an integral part of Tommy’s business, his youth making him inconspicuous to most.  Her children shall never know true danger, shall never know grief or hunger or how it feels to kill a man, and she should be thankful for it. She suspects when they are born and when they grow, she shall be thankful for it. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be. 

After her midnight confession, Clive beds her with eagerness, with something close to devotion. His nightly efforts do not come to fruition, for a Wednesday a month or so after she wakes to blood on her slip and a realisation swirling in her mind. A month after leaving London, a month which had been spent on a terrible voyage to New York, she'd worried that her bouts of sea-sickness were not sea-sickness at all, but rather, symptoms of pregnancy. Tommy had bedded her enough for such a thing to occur. When her monthly blood finally arrived, days before leaving the ship, Grace had wept. Now, she realises, it was perhaps not with joy.

This Wednesday morning however, she rises from her bed with dry eyes, discards herself of her dirty slip, and attempts to convince her reflection that this is not a sign before Clive awakes. Convincing herself of this, however, becomes increasingly harder as the months past and her blood continues to come, regular as it has always been.  Both she and Clive are in the prime of their lives, both healthy and hearty. There is no reason for her not be pregnant a hundred times over, no reason for her not to accomplish her husband's greatest desire. Even before she conceded to his desire, there had been ample time for her to fall pregnant with his child. Babies and children occupy their thoughts almost constantly nowadays, and she spends most of her time consulting books, doctors and pamphlets on how to fall pregnant. She even makes queries amongst the wives of Clive’s associates, whom all cluck gently at her before telling her absurd methods of falling pregnant, ones Grace swears she shall never employ.

Clive does not love her any less when she bleeds month after month, but she can see the pain in his eyes, can feel his disappointment in the way he touches her late at night, his mind singularly focused on achieving the very thing that continues to allude them. Grace can hardly blame him. She has convinced herself that a baby will solve all of her problems, will provide her with something to do, something to make her life worthwhile.  A baby will please her husband, and in turn, secure her marriage. She doubts Clive would ever divorce her, for the look in his eyes whenever he gazes at her tells her he loves her…but he needs an heir. When she bleeds every month despite his best efforts, she cannot help but wonder why something seemingly as simple as having a child is so very difficult for them to achieve.

This is  _not_  a sign, she tells her reflection, but it stubbornly refuses to listen.

\---

Nine months have gone by when Clive informs her of a doctor in London. Nine months of disappointment and waking up to blood on her shift every month, when she could have had a baby in her arms by now. Clive would never dare to blame her for their failure, but the rest of his family do. She knows they whisper behind her back about how it is her fault, how her Irish blood must be tainted and too impure for her bear a child. It takes all her strength not to laugh, for whilst Clive may be American born, his heritage is as Irish as hers. She can hardly see the point in such blame, not when there is obviously nothing either of them can do to rectify the problem. If it were at all possible, Clive's prayers would have seen her pregnant thrice over by now. 

When her husband presses a kiss to her temple and excitedly informs her of this London doctor, her quick retort is that surely there must be doctors of the same calibre here in New York. But her husband is adamant that this London doctor is the one who shall solve all their problems, the person who will finally provide them with the thing that their very marriage is now centred upon – a baby…an heir…a renewal of their love, which has faded so very much from months of disappointment.

London is not Birmingham, she manages to convince herself amidst sorting out what clothes she shall take with her, clothes which are entirely suited to being the wife of a prominent banker and cost almost a small fortune. London and Birmingham are miles apart, and she is thankful for the distance. No matter how influential the Peaky Blinders have become, no matter how much they have spread their influence across the country, the chances she shall see Tommy Shelby in London, in the glamorous society Clive expects shall eagerly welcome them, are slim at best.

In London she will be Mrs. Clive Macmillian, the charming Irish wife of a prominent American banker who smiles pleasantly at exact the right time and knows how to fake a convincing laugh. No one in London knows of their troubles conceiving, and will be unable to judge her as the failure of a woman Clive’s family believe she surely must be. Here in this majestic life she has chosen for herself, she cannot prove herself in any other way but by bearing children, cannot show her prowess with a gun or her skills at collecting precious information. Those are skills suited for another city, for another lifetime. Children are to be the measure of success in her life, and in this she is determined to see herself succeed. 

The voyage to London is terrible, choppy seas and stormy weather. She spends most of the journey in their cramped cabin, trying desperately not to believe the weather is a sign of things to come. Clive is nothing less than overwhelmingly positive about this doctor and his supposed miracle solution, chattering constantly about it as if that will make his desires finally come to fruition. She is less than convinced… for surely if they were meant to have a baby, it would have occurred by now.  But she tries to remain somewhat slightly positive, if only for her husband's sake.

In London, she says nothing, merely bites her tongue and nods soundlessly when the doctor suggests, quite rudely, that their lack of children may be her fault. How Clive’s family would delight in his diagnosis, she thinks, stifling a laugh. Grace finds it amusing that she has merely swapped one judgmental society for another. What would they think if they knew what she did? Clive had told her once late at night, perhaps thinking her to be asleep, that he never managed to conceive any children with his first wife, despite their marriage having lasting four years. But just like back in New York, she does not dare to mention this to the doctor. Grace merely accepts his criticism as yet another part of her new life, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress her tears and accepting the comforting hand her husband places on her shoulder.

In Birmingham her inability to have children would be seen as an accomplishment, particularly amongst the women. Was there truly any point to having children, when you would struggle to birth them and then have to watch them grow up always fearing that they could be lost to you in a blink of an eye? If she can’t have children, well the people of Birmingham would commend her for such a thing. But here in her new life, she faces only contempt for her inability to give her husband his so desperately needed heir.

She has to wonder, is there any point to suffering through this supposed miracle treatment when she isn't sure she wants children with her husband? Something has shifted between them, and not for the better. Clive's desire for children has become all-consuming, enough to drag them on this god-forsaken journey. She has begun to wonder if he sees her as nothing more than a way to procure children, not as the beloved wife she thought herself to be.

Grace has never been one to remain where she is not wanted. Her departure from London after waiting the promised week for Tommy to come and join her, and being disappointed by his absence, is more than proof of that. If her husband desires to discard her because she has proven useless at giving him a child, so be it. Money has not provided her with much happiness anyway, if the last two years are anything to judge by.

\---

The call from Tommy comes at exactly the right time, and she yet again has to try and convince her reflection that this is not a sign. Her husband shrugs the disconnected call off, murmuring something about the telephone lines in England not being good and busying himself once more with dressing for dinner. She may return his gentle kiss, may offer a smile at his almost derogatory comment, but her heart beats loudly in her chest for she knows, she just does, that it had been Tommy on the other end of the line.

For who else would know she is back in England, who else would bother to call her but Tommy Shelby?

Grace eyes the telephone, almost as if she can will it to ring again, so she can answer it this time, can hear Tommy on the other side of the line. Campbell, she knows, is still alive but cursed to walk with a limp for the rest of his days. It only serves him right for teaching her how to shoot so effectively, and then presuming to dispose of her because she did not return his love. Campbell’s hatred of her runs so deep he wouldn't think to call her, would rather remain hating her in the shadows rather than face her one last time. He has always been a cowardly man, and she is glad she shot him. In hindsight, she is sorry that she did not aim for his heart and do away with him for once and all.

Tommy has lookouts all over the city, men stationed almost in every bar, at every corner. She has seen them whilst walking arm-in-arm with Clive, her observational skills still somewhere deep inside her, still present even after lying dormant for two years. Their distinctive flat caps, wary gazes and the way one of their hands rest tenderly on their hip at all times label them almost immediately as Peaky Blinders, but she finds their presence comforting rather than alarming, despite her husband's tightening grip on her wrist, his pace quickening. She recognises none of their faces, does not see Arthur or John or a probably no longer so little Finn amongst them, and for that she is grateful. She has no clue what they would do if they saw her. She has no clue what she would do if she saw them.

She has never thought of what could happen if her two lives were to ever mix. Perhaps she should have, instead of thinking her presence in England would not go unnoticed after two years away.

The night after Tommy calls she is restless while Clive sleeps, slipping out of bed to sit by the window and watch the world pass by on the streets below. London is abuzz with energy in spite of the late hour, and she longs to join the throng of people, longs to have something to occupy her days other than seeing doctors and accompanying her husband around the city. She does not know if she wants to be a part of Tommy Shelby's life once more, isn’t at all sure if she wants to delve back into the world of illegal business ventures and persuasive means of getting someone to agree...but Grace is sure that she wants something more than her current life has to offer, no matter how comfortable, how obscenely rich she might be.

The next morning after the sun rises she tracks down a telephone directory from the hotel concierge, tracing ‘Shelby Brothers Ltd’ and the number that follows the black ink with her index finger almost tenderly, heart racing in her chest. Limited, she thinks with a smile. A legitimate business. Tommy had promised he would, and so he had.

Why shouldn’t she call, if only to exchange pleasantries and congratulate him on his success? Her husband has gone out to lunch with a few of his numerous English business associates. She’d pled ill, and the dark circles under her eyes from a night spent tossing and turning, her thoughts filled with Tommy, had only helped her case. There is no better time for her to ring Tommy than right now, she knows this, but yet, her fingers still shake when she dials the number, a lump settling in her throat. She holds the phone to her ear, and she almost thinks he will not answer, thinks he will not be in as the phone rings and rings and rings. Should she leave a message, or should she try later, try and find another time when her husband is not around?

But he answers, and her fingers stop shaking almost instantaneously when she hears him breathing. She can barely breathe herself, can barely form his name. But she does and after she speaks, he is so very silent she fears the connection has been lost.

When he finally speaks, her heart leaps in her chest. The sound of his voice – the voice which still haunts her dreams two years after he never came to London – causes her to stammer over her next sentence, goosebumps rising on her arms and her grip on the telephone tightening. She is overly honest with him in a way she knows only Tommy Shelby can inspire, the two years of silence, the two years of unanswered letters, sliding away almost instantly.

The mere sound of her name on his lips, the mere sound of his voice, the man himself seemingly so close but yet so far, makes her desperate to see him, her hand pushing the telephone closer to her ear as if that shall help ease her longing any.

It doesn’t.

He tells her where and when to meet him.  _Number 24 Primrose Hill, tomorrow night, 9 p.m. sharp_.  She hastily agrees, for there is nothing she wants more than to see Thomas Shelby. Mere moments later though, the call ended, Grace finds she cannot help but fiddle with her wedding ring, stomach churning as she sits alone in the hotel room, Tommy’s voice ringing in her ears.

Nothing can dull her sense of anticipation though, not even Clive’s wide smile as he tells her all about his lunch, not even his tender caress. Her whole body is seemingly alight at the mere thought of seeing Tommy, and she falls asleep with something close to a smile on her lips.

It’s been two years, but Grace thinks she may always love him, no matter how hard she tries not to… and God has she tried.

\--- 

By the time 9 p.m. arrives the following night, her longing to see Tommy has been replaced somewhat by an overwhelming feeling of guilt, one which has settled deep in her stomach. She tries to stop her hands from shaking as she finishes getting ready, avoiding Clive’s eyes as best as she can. Grace is almost ashamed by how easily the lie about a half-deaf aunt spills out of her mouth… _almost_. The mixture of anticipation and guilt combines into something that leaves her slightly giddy, wishing the hours away so Tommy can be in front of her sooner.

Still, she has to wonder, how can she be betraying her husband so? How can she even think to leave him all alone in their hotel room so she can go and visit a former lover?

How has she become this person? Her mother would surely be ashamed. Grace thinks she’d be ashamed herself, if she could anything but heady desire.

Clive tells her he’ll wait up for her, and she forces herself to smile, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek when she stands, silk fabric swishing around her legs. The dress is yet another thing Clive has given her, and she’s chosen to wear it tonight to remind herself just how much her life has changed. She’s isn’t the same person she was two years ago, and she needs to remember that. She might not feel the same intense longing for him as she does for Tommy, but Clive is safe and he’s willing to do anything to please her. Children or no children, if she can put the thought of Tommy Shelby out of her mind once and for all, maybe then her and Clive can be as happy as they were the day they married, flowers threaded through her hair and a grin on his lips.

She will see Tommy tonight simply because she has to. The need to see Tommy is one she cannot ignore, and why should she? She needs to see him just one more time, needs to know what the last two years have been like for him, and then she shall forget about him entirely and dedicate herself to loving Clive as deeply, as truly, as he loves her.  Her husband lingers in the doorway to watch her leave, smiling at her when she looks back over her shoulder. She drinks in the image of him, his soft eyes and gentle smile, because heavens know she’ll need it if she is to get through this evening without falling under Tommy’s spell. He offers her a wave as she nears the end of the hallway, heart hammering in her chest, and she smiles back at him before she descends the stairs and leaves him waiting for her return.

Number 24 Primrose Hill is a magnificent house. It stands almost as tall as Clive’s house in New York, something about it commanding the attention of onlookers, despite the numerous other houses that are crammed together on the street. Grace pays the driver, pays him with Clive’s money, and she slips out of the car slowly, smoothing down her coat and squaring her shoulders. She waits until someone, a Peaky Blinder most likely, leaves the house before she crosses the road, fingers laced together to stop them from shaking.

Perhaps this wasn’t a very good idea, she thinks. Perhaps she should simply forget the idea entirely, and go back to the hotel. Her head may be filled with doubts but her feet carry her closer and closer to the house, to Tommy, and Grace finds she cannot stop them. Her heart is hammering in her chest, but her fingers are steady as she lifts the ornate doorbell and drops it, the echoing sound almost as loud as her heartbeat.

Two years, and all that separates them is a door. She’s gone across the ocean to another land, spent seven hundred and forty six days trying to rid herself of the memory of him, and now Tommy is so very close, just on the other side of this mere piece of wood.

Grace can’t scarcely breathe, but she forces herself to suck in a shallow breath as the door is eased open, trying desperately not to blink. She’s waited for this moment for so long, has dreamed so many times of seeing Tommy again. It would not do to miss a single moment of it.

His eyes are as blue as she remembers them to be when the door finally opens and he is standing before her, lips pressed gently together. So blue, and so wide she could drown in them if she so desired.

Tommy murmurs her name, reaches a hand out to her to guide her inside and she fleetingly thinks –  _Clive who_?

\--- 

It has been five weeks since the night she met with Tommy, and time has never passed as slowly for her as it has these last thirty-six days. Her husband has insisted that they stay in England until the doctor is certain that there is nothing more he can do for them, and on the days not occupied with appointments Clive has taken to travelling outside of London to meet with new business associates, determined to expand his contacts before they return to America.

Today he’s going to Cardiff, and she’s going to the races.

She once more convinces Clive she is ill when he asks her if she wanted to accompany him this morning, and her lie isn’t far from the truth. Grace is ill, but not with a cough or a headache like Clive presumed. She’s been able to hide the truth from him for the most part, Clive either asleep or gone when she urgently needs to find a sink, a bucket, _anything_ , and after today, she won’t need to lie to him anymore. She’ll be able to tell him the truth, the whole truth, and hopefully they’ll part as friends. If not, well it doesn’t really matter. He isn’t the man for her. He never was, and she was a fool to try and con herself into thinking so.

As soon as the door shuts behind Clive, the smell of his cologne still lingering in the air, she pushes back the bedcovers and slides gently out of bed, a hand on her stomach. A mere thirty-six days have passed and yet her whole life has changed. Grace first suspected the truth when she felt nauseated after taking lunch alone in their hotel room, fifteen days after she saw Tommy. A visit to a doctor willing to be discrete for a price, an explanation of her symptoms, and what she suspected was confirmed to be true. She and Clive haven’t slept together since two weeks before she met with Tommy, so there is no way the baby growing inside of her is his. She isn’t far enough along for the baby to be her husband’s.

This baby is Tommy’s, and surely that has to be a sign.

The doctor, Clive’s family, god even her husband himself, they’d all blamed her for not giving Clive an heir. They all thought she was the source of the problem, that Clive needed to divorce her and marry a more fertile woman. Grace studies herself in the mirror, lifts her nightgown up until it rests just below her breasts, and squints at her stomach. It’s only been thirty-six days, but she swears her stomach looks rounder, her breasts fuller. In only a few short months, surely she’ll be as large as Ada had, and then she won’t be able to hide the truth from anyone. That’s why it’s better to tell Clive now, tonight after she gets back from the races and he returns from Cardiff. Tonight, she’ll tell her husband the truth, and that terrifies her less than seeing Tommy again does.

As she slips a pink dress on Grace remembers the last time she attended a horse race in England, smoothing down the pink fabric as she smiles. If only she had a red dress in her luggage. The pink shall have to do, she thinks, powdering her face in the morning light. The colour of her dress doesn’t matter, not really. All that matters is the baby growing inside, and the love she has for its father – a love she knows he returns, even after two years apart.

She wonders if the baby will have Tommy’s eyes. She hopes it will.

\---

Epsom is as crowded as she expected it would be, but somehow she manages to find Tommy amidst the chaos, alertly scanning the crowd as he stands tall on the steps. She hurries to him, a hand holding her coat together, her dress loose around her belly, around their baby.

 _A baby, a baby, a baby_.

A baby, their baby, will change everything, but she’s thankful for it. Somewhere between throwing up the expensive remains of her lunch and wiping her mouth fifteen days after seeing Tommy, she finally let herself acknowledge that she was miserable. Clive is kind to her, and she has more money at her disposal than she could ever need, but she is miserable. And why should she remain feeling that way, if she has the power to change it?

Tommy’s eyes are wide when she touches his arm, and he visibly startles at the sight of her.

“I have to talk to you,” she murmurs.

He looks at her as if he does not believe the sight of her to be real, not after she rebuked his desire to see her again. The way he looks at her makes her heart pang, and Grace silently swears to herself that she shall never rebuke him anything again. He murmurs her name like it is a question, and she has to resist the urge to press a hand to her belly, instead insisting once more that she needs to talk to him. Tommy pushes an unlit cigarette between his lips and leads her down the stairs, his breath hot on her neck. She shivers, and she has to think - will there ever come a day where Tommy’s touch does not instantly set her alight?

When she tells him her news, tells him that she’s pregnant, his eyes finally stop darting around the crowded racecourse and settle solely upon her. Unblinking, Tommy stumbles through telling her that her husband would believe her if she told him the baby was his. And that is how she knows he wants this baby, however unexpected it might be. A man like Thomas Shelby never stammers, is never lost for words, but when she tells him her news, the mere notion that he cannot phrase what he wants to say lets her know that no matter how unexpected, he wants this baby. The way he tries instantaneously to make a decision about what to do about the baby growing inside of her is an idiotic action, for he cannot make such a life-changing decision in a matter of mere seconds, in the middle of a crowed racecourse.

So she argues with him, a curse slipping from her lips as she tries to make him answer her, because she wants no father for this baby but Thomas Shelby.  She loves him, has loved him from the moment he asked her to sing for him, his eyes blue and so very haunted as a raindrop or perhaps a tear coursed down his cheek. She’s never been able to decide which of the two it was.

Grace thinks she shall always love him, and she tells him as such. She tells him that she loves him, not her husband, as she looks up into the eyes that shall always feature in her dreams. A hand comes to rest tenderly, almost as reverently as how Tommy touches her, on her satin-covered belly, and she thinks perhaps this is what being happy feels like. His eyes dart down to where her hand is resting, and no, she  _knows_ this is what being happy feels like.

It has been so very long since she’s felt this way, and she wants nothing more than to revel in the feeling. “A baby, Thomas,” she murmurs, and she wonders if he’s as terrified as her. Soon they shall have a baby, a tiny, fragile thing that will need them to protect it from any and every danger that exists in the world. And they’ll try their best, she knows they will, but there’s every possibility that their best simply won’t be enough. The thought terrifies her, and she needs Tommy now more than ever.

But the question is, will he stand by her? His family most certainly despise her, especially Polly, and there is the issue of her already being married. She might love him more than anything else in this world, but there are still so many issues they shall need to resolve before the baby comes, Tommy’s own feelings included. By the way he had touched her that night five weeks ago, she knows he still feels something for her – but does he love her the way she loves him? God, she hopes so.

Grace sends him off to his race with a thousand questions whirling in her mind, pulling the two sections of her cloak closer together as if that shall somehow protect her and the baby from her fears and worries. It is a flimsy form of protection, but for the moment, it will have to do.

\---

An hour or so later, Grace has to repeatedly remind herself - former agents of the Crown do not weep, especially over something as silly as their lover being involved with another woman. Involved with another woman when they weren’t together nonetheless. She watches May walk away, hands shaking slightly in her lace gloves. It is only when May’s red dress, so very similar to the one she wore all those years ago, finally swishes entirely around the corner, only then does she allows herself to tightly lace her hands together, inhaling sharply.

She had asked Tommy if there was another, and his answer, obscure as it was, had neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions. He seemed happy enough to fall back into bed with her regardless of any entanglements either of them had, had asked her if he could see her again, had seemingly been so upset when she refused his request. And that night, that one night, had led to something so marvellous.

If this woman, this May Carleton, means anything at all to him, surely he wouldn’t have bedded Grace as eagerly as he had. Surely if he had another, he would not have desired to see her again. But he had, and she can’t help but be confused by it all.

Her stomach swirls, and she sits down on an empty stool for fear of fainting. She watches the world pass her by, the betting area crowded with people, and happily lets their voices fill her ears. Perhaps May means nothing to Tommy. Perhaps, like so many before her, she was merely someone who could warm his bed and provide a few moments of relief from the burden of being Thomas Shelby.

She’s the one carrying his child, she reminds herself, fumbling in her purse for a cigarette to calm her nerves. No matter what happened in the past, she is carrying his child, and through this child they shall always be linked. No matter what Tommy chooses to do, she will always know the true parentage of their baby, even if she never tells anyone, even if Clive thinks it is his. She slips the cigarette between her parted lips, lights it, and lets the smoke calm her.

She loves Tommy. He knows she loves him, and he knows that she is carrying his child. No matter what may have been between him and May Carleton, no matter how much influence May Carleton may have, she is the one that Tommy has a real future with. Business and love are two very different notions, and she knows Tommy well enough to know he is immensely capable of the latter, no matter what this May might think.

It’ll be difficult, and terrifying most of the time, but when she thinks about a future in which she is with Tommy, a future in which they are happy no matter what strife Tommy might be in, a future where any children she has are Tommy’s and Tommy adores them like he does nothing else, well, she cannot help but feel, for the first time in two years, content with what she pictures.

So Grace waits for Tommy, and it is only when the bar attendant insists that she must leave that she rises from her stool, her heart sinking low in her chest. Tommy had told her he’d come to her, and he hadn’t. Did the fact that she loved him, the fact that it was _his_ child currently growing in her belly, mean absolutely nothing to him? She’d seen him with Finn, seen him ecstatic when Ada was safely delivered of Karl. She knows how much family means to him, and it is through her that he shall have a family of his very own. Why then, has he not come to her? 

Grace is shivering by the time she returns to the hotel, thankful for Clive’s absence because she has proven unable to stop the tears from pooling in her eyes. She doesn’t think she could lie to him, not now, not when her heart is aching.

Early the next morning she decides, perhaps because of the love she shall always hold for Tommy, perhaps because of the baby growing in her belly, that she shall give him a week to come to her, to make amends for leaving her waiting without a reason.

A week, the exact same amount of time she gave him two years ago. If he doesn’t not come to her in that time, then she shall discard any hope of a future with Thomas Shelby. She shall lie to her husband and tell him that the baby is his, tell him that all their dreams have come true, no matter how much the child may resemble its real father once it arrives. She shall forget all about the man who holds her heart, no matter how painful such an act may be, and she and Clive shall book passage on the first boat back to New York.

She gives him a week, and Tommy comes to her before the sun has set on the second day, knocking gently on her hotel door. Grace opens the door in bewilderment, for Clive is at an early dinner with yet another potential business associate. In a heartbeat, Tommy takes her into his arms, as if he needs to hold her to feel whole, an apology easily slipping from his lips. She holds him tight to her, lacing her hands together around the small of his back, her face fitting comfortably in the crook of his neck. They stay in this position for a moment or two, holding each other tightly, before she pulls herself from him to shut the door, to hide their love from prying eyes. Grace guides him into the bedroom, the bedsheets rumpled from where she had been resting before Tommy’s knock startled her.

His hand comes to rest tenderly on her belly as they sit close together. She says nothing, merely remains silent as Tommy studies her. She does not need to say anything, for Tommy is here. She gave him a week, and this time he did not disappoint her. No matter what might come after this, no matter what he might say, he is here. But Tommy seemingly feels the need to break the silence, for on his next exhale he tells her that he wishes to marry her, his eyes raising from her belly to settle on her face. Her hand comes to rest on his, and she leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth in answer to his unspoken question

She hopes the baby has Tommy's eyes. Even if it doesn’t, Grace knows that both it and she herself will bear the name Shelby. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I ever wrote for Peaky Blinders, and it's quite possibly the longest Peaky fic I'll ever write. It's probably not at all any good, but considering the time/effort I put into writing it and the annoyance I still have towards SK's writing overall, particularly his characterisation of s2!Grace, I thought it at least deserved to be published. Hope you enjoyed it, I guess?


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